


The Kissing Game

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Asexual Character, Christmas Party, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: "It's easy! All you have to do is catch Martin under the mistletoe six times,” Tim explained with bright enthusiasm. Jon could practically see him vibrating from his spot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “First one to kiss him on the lips wins!”“Why six?”“It’s sort of like each time you catch him, you get one point,” Sasha explained. “First he kisses you on your hand-”“Like a true gentleman,” Tim interrupted.Sasha gave him a little glare, then continued. “After that, it’s a kiss on one cheek, then the other. Then he gives you a kiss on the forehead, then nose, then finally a kiss on the mouth.”“And that’s how you win Christmas,” Tim said with a nod.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 70
Kudos: 364





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I really wanted to get this whole fic out by Christmas, but underestimated how busy I was going to be this year. So now it's getting split into three chapters, and the rest should be posted pretty soon. 
> 
> The original draft of this fic was actually started last year around the same time! It was right after I caught up to the podcast, and at the time there were some really cute mistletoe-themed fics out already, which gave me the idea for my own. It's seriously taken me this long to look back on two-page wip and decide to finish it up. And of course, it got longer than I originally intended. 
> 
> A small note on the setting: as I said, this was started about a year ago, so some details were established before I become more familiar with the details of canon. Don't worry too hard about what the Institute is for if not horrorterrors; everyone technically worked in research, too, but Jon was sort of uninvolved w/ the three of the others before they all got moved to the archives. It's all just an excuse to have them familiar with this long-running game while Jon remains oblivious, don't think about it too hard~
> 
> Special thanks to Elian and Ohita-kaki for beta reading!

"D'you need anything else before I head off, Jon?"

"No Martin, I'll be fine." Jon spared a hand to wave at Martin without looking up from his computer. "Have a good night."

"Night," was the soft reply, and then he was gone. The door remained ajar. Jon knew it wasn't a mistake on Martin's part and forced himself not to roll his eyes. Instead, he reluctantly considered the clock. Maybe it would do to finish up for the night…

His thoughts were interrupted by a cry of "Finally!" from Tim. Jon could hear him and Sasha getting up from their desks, but instead of footsteps following Martin out the building, there came other noises.

Jon wrinkled his nose and peeked out of his door.

They were decorating. Christmas-themed nonsense was being strewn about the place with a wholly unexpected amount of efficiency. Little electric candles were placed on desks; tinsel was hastily secured onto parts of the walls and desks with hooks. Small Santa and reindeer plushies were speckled about in the open office area. Sasha put a snow globe on Martin's desk. Then Tim pulled a ladder from seemingly nowhere and Jon decided that was enough. 

"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, trying to imbue some authority in his tone, but that never really worked with Tim. As predicted, the other man didn't pause or even look over at his boss. Instead he set the ladder at Martin's desk, right where the chair usually stayed, and began to climb. 

"Just a bit of decorating boss!" Tim said from the top of the ladder. Jon watched him tape a sprig of something to the ceiling.

"Not like any sort of decorating I've ever seen," Jon replied. Granted, he wasn't familiar in any case; his grandmother hadn't been one for celebrating the holidays. "Why would you even put that up there?"

"So Martin won't notice it of course!"

"I thought the whole point of decorating was to notice it." 

As Tim climbed down the ladder, Sasha gasped and turned to look at Jon. "Wait, that's right! Jon, this is your first year playing the game with us!" 

Jon narrowed his eyes, suspicious dread growing in his chest. He dared to ask, "What game?"

Before Jon was Head Archivist, he was a researcher for the Institute, just like the others. However, he existed mostly in a separate realm of that division, dealing more heavily in historical records and organizing old information to coincide with newer information. So, while he did know Tim and Sasha and Martin at the time, he didn't work with them often, and was usually hidden away in a totally different part of the building.

The holidays were also the only time of year Jon would ever head home early (or on time — whatever.) This was to avoid decorations, holiday parties, and friendly offers to hang out after work. Jon always preferred his solitude and the ability to work efficiently; such was hardly ever easy to do when people were in the holiday spirit. Too many distractions. People got lazier, sloppier, more annoying.

So no, Jon didn't stick around much in December. So he'd never seen The Game in action. 

"It's easy! All you have to do is catch Martin under the mistletoe six times,” Tim explained with bright enthusiasm. Jon could practically see him vibrating from his spot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “First one to kiss him on the lips wins!” 

“Why six?”

“It’s sort of like each time you catch him, you get one point,” Sasha explained. “First he kisses you on your hand-”

“Like a true gentleman,” Tim interrupted. 

Sasha gave him a little glare, then continued. “After that, it’s a kiss on one cheek, then the other. Then he gives you a kiss on the forehead, then nose, then finally a kiss on the mouth.” 

“And that’s how you win Christmas,” Tim said with a nod. 

Jon wrinkled his nose. “You can’t win Christmas.”

“Sure you can. I would know, because I’ve won Christmas the last two years in a row,” Tim boasted. 

“I’m so going to destroy you this year, Stoker.” 

Jon can only shake his head. “What a ridiculous game. How long have you been doing this?”

Tim tapped his chin. “I think the last… four years, maybe?” 

“And Martin goes along with this?”

“Sure! He plays along, too, tries to make it harder for us to catch him.” 

Jon can only frown. The idea of being constantly assailed by coworkers demanding kisses… that actually sounds like a proper nightmare. How did Martin put up with these people? 

“I’ll leave the two of you to it then,” Jon said sternly. “You won’t catch me behaving so…” He waved his hand, hoping his disgust was well-conveyed. 

Tim, having successfully laid his trap, hopped off the ladder and started collapsing it so he could move it back to storage. As he did so, he said to Jon, “Aw boss, good on you for bowing out gracefully. It must be hard, knowing you don’t stand a chance against champions like us.” 

Against his better judgement, Jon asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’d lose, even if you did play!” Tim shrugged his shoulder as well as he could while holding a ladder. 

As he left the room, Sasha waved a plastic bag at Jon. It was full of more plastic mistletoe sprigs. “Want to help me decorate the rest of the archives?” 

“No thank you,” Jon told her, and hurried back into his office. 

* * *

The next day, as soon as Martin said hello and sat down at his chair, Tim rolled over to him. Jon, who’d been in the middle of giving Tim an assignment, glared after his subordinate. 

“Morning, Martin,” Tim sang brightly, leaning one elbow against the desk. 

Martin quirked a brow at him. “Um, hello Tim?”

“Noticed anything different?”

“Hmm… Well, you’re bothering me instead of doing any work, so not really.” 

“Don’t be so mean! Tisn't the _season_ for that, now is it Sasha?”

“I don’t believe it is,” Sasha agreed, though she didn’t look away from her computer. 

“That’s right! Tis the season of kindness and generosity, especially if you’re being kind and generous to me in particular,” Tim proclaimed. Then he pointed and said, “Tis also the season for looking up at the ceiling.” 

Martin glanced up. Upon seeing the mistletoe, he immediately burst out into laughter. “God, Tim.” 

Tim only stared, grinning, until Martin got over his giggle fit. Then, very properly, he held out one hand and demurred. “Well, Martin? Don’t leave me _hanging_.” 

Jon strode past the desk and very flatly said, “Boo.” 

It was enough to set Martin off again, snickering into the sleeve of his jumper. But just before Jon closed the door to his office, he saw at a glance the way Martin took Tim’s proffered hand and, with a smile, gave it a single kiss.

* * *

Later in the day, Jon found himself retreating from the bowels of the basement towards the breakroom. His appetite was making an unwelcome appearance, so he figured it was about time to give in and grab a snack. If he was lucky, there would still be leftover sugar cookies. Sasha had brought them in the other day, and neither Martin nor Tim seemed particularly fond of them. Jon liked the frosting, and they were moderately filling if he had at least two. He could just grab a couple and bring them back to his desk on a napkin. 

Jon turned into the doorway, only to be stopped by a warm body. 

“Oh! Sorry, Jon!” 

“It’s fine, Martin.” 

“I didn’t see you.” 

“Yes, well.” Jon smoothed down his tie, adjusted his collar. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin apologized, then shuffled to the side so Jon could pass him. But before he could move, Martin made a little sound — a laugh or a cough, Jon wasn’t sure. He stared, suspicious. “I- no, sorry, just-” This time Martin did laugh, a nervous little chuckle, and his cheeks grew red. He pointed up a finger. Jon followed until he saw the mistletoe hanging above and between them. 

Oh dear. Jon could feel his own face heating up. He wasn’t- Surely Martin didn’t expect him to-

“Are you playing the game?” 

Jon paused, caught off guard. “What? Pardon me?” 

“The- the kissing game,” Martin said with another nervous laugh. “I’m assuming Tim mentioned it. He gets… very excited about it every year. He and Sasha have already gotten me once each today. I, um, I wasn’t sure if you were playing too.”

That’s right, they were playing that ridiculous game. Jon felt a bit like scoffing, but didn’t. No, instead he considered Martin’s words, and the choices available to him. If Jon did accept the kiss… well, it would just be for that little game. The others were doing it, too, so it wouldn’t be weird, right? And it was only a kiss on the hand, he could deal with that. At this point, it might be more awkward if he said no, though he was sure Martin would be gracious about accepting his boundaries over it. He could say no; he probably should say no. 

So why hadn’t he already? 

Jon realized there was something repeating in his head, something Tim said yesterday: he’d implied Jon had no chance in ‘winning’ the game. What was that supposed to mean, anyway? All one had to do was stand around under some fake plants. Tim might have more experience in wasting his time with frivolities and idly hanging around looking pretty than Jon did, but that didn’t mean Jon was- well, he could accept a kiss just as graciously as anyone else. 

And so he decided he would.

Still, the words were caught in his throat. Jon glanced away, and for a moment it seemed like Martin might take that as a silent answer. But just as Jon could hear him start to shuffle away, he turned back slightly and, without a word, held up one hand. 

Martin looked surprised, which made Jon scowl. Then Martin chuckled and gently took Jon’s hand in his own. The kiss was quick — there was no lingering, just a simple peck on the back of Jon’s hand before Martin let him go. Jon quickly pulled his hand back against his chest, like he’d been burned, but managed to offer Martin a tight little smile before making a beeline for the cookies. 

* * *

Jon hadn’t really intended to actively participate in the game. It was stupid, childish, and honestly a waste of time. Tim would spend the entire last hour of his day collecting mistletoe and rearranging them in the archives to new spots, so Martin wouldn’t know where they were hidden. If Jon had thought for a second that any of them would take him seriously, he might have ordered the game outright canceled. 

But then… well. Tim also kept gloating. 

“Got another one on his way out,” he’d said, winking at Jon and Sasha as they were putting on their coats. 

“How’d you manage that?” Sasha had asked.

“Taped one to the top of the lift , obviously!” 

Jon hadn’t spoken, had only crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, following the two of them out. Watched Tim reach up to pluck the mistletoe off the lift’s ceiling, tucking it into his coat pocket. He bid them both goodbye before parting ways out on the sidewalk, tugging his scarf closer in an attempt to ward off the cold. 

But in Jon’s head, he was planning. 

Thus, the game was afoot. Jon always got in before everyone else, and he spent part of this morning doing a quick round about the archive, locating as many sprigs of mistletoe as he could. There were, in essence, only so many places Tim could hang them up; however, there were also certain random spots where he’d simply taped them against the wall at what he must have deemed an acceptable height. Jon even found one sticking out of a book in the stacks, like a bookmark. Reluctantly charmed, he’d left that one alone. 

There were perhaps eight sprigs of mistletoe in total, not including the one Tim took home with him that evening before. Jon relocated five of them. 

Then he waited to make his move. The morning was spent as usual, with Jon sticking dutifully to his work; he felt slightly guilty about spending part of his morning on something so silly. But neither Tim nor the others seemed to suspect anything, acting perfectly normal.

It wasn’t until later that Jon acted. When Martin brought him his afternoon cup of tea, Jon asked him to search for a couple of files in the stacks, pointing out exactly which section he should try checking. Martin nodded, accepting the small, written list Jon handed him, and said he’d go look once he was finished with a follow-up call. Jon then asked, as casually as he could manage, for Martin to leave the door cracked on his way out. “It just feels a bit stuffy in here,” he said, and Martin hadn’t batted an eyelash. In fact, he seemed in some way pleased by Jon’s words, and happily left the door mostly open. 

When Jon heard Martin finish his call and roll away from his desk, he took a sip of tea and glanced at the clock. After five minutes had passed, he grabbed a second note and left his office. 

Martin was exactly where Jon planned to find him, knelt down over a box with a frustrated look on his face. Jon made sure to be quiet in his approach, only clearing his throat when he was a few feet away. Martin jumped slightly. “Hey! Sorry, I’m just, um, having a bit of trouble-”

“It’s no problem, Martin. I think I actually made a mistake: I gave you the wrong list of documents.”

“Oh!”

Martin stood, taking the offered scrap of paper from Jon. “These are what you should be looking for. If not in this section exactly, they’ll be nearby.”

“Alright, thanks.”

Jon nodded, then pretended to adjust his hair. As he did so, he rolled his neck and glanced upward. He made a show of squinting, then rolling his eyes. “Ah, it looks like Tim’s been about.”

“What do you- oh, hah.” Martin looked at the mistletoe propped in a book just a head or so above them. “Looks like you’ve got me again, Jon.” 

“It would seem so.” 

Despite knowing this would happen — _planning_ on it happening — Jon felt his cheeks heat up again. He couldn’t help but stutter when he asked, “Where- ah, where exactly- I mean, for the second… where does it go?” 

Martin seemed somewhat flustered as well, which somehow made Jon feel slightly better. Martin lightly tapped his own cheek before asking, “Would that be okay?” 

“...Yes. Just- go ahead.”

Jon tilted his head, closed his eyes. A second later, he felt Martin’s lips against his skin. The kiss was dry and not long, necessarily, but Jon noted it wasn’t as quick as the kiss on his hand had been. For just a moment, he thought he could feel more of Martin’s body heat, or maybe the ghost of a touch on his elbow. 

Just as quick, though, it was all gone. Jon opened his eyes to Martin’s shy smile. “Two points: Sims.”

Jon felt himself smile before he could help it, then quickly made vague gestures with his hands towards the box and said, “Yes, yes, well, let’s get back to it.”

* * *

By the third day, it seemed that Tim had caught on. 

“You gunnin’ for my crown, boss?” he asked, slumped against Jon’s doorway, giving the man a look of pure incredulity. 

Jon, feeling unexpectedly pleased with himself, had to fight to keep his expression neutral. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Tim.”

“Rumor has it you’ve already gotten three kisses from Mister Blackwood himself!” 

“All random coincidences,” Jon said, shrugging and fondly recalling the happy accident from earlier; he’d been leading Martin to a filing cabinet to show him how to re-organize them, only noticing the mistletoe lodged in the top drawer a second after Martin did. 

Tim’s grin had an edge of danger to it. “If you think you’re going to win, boss, you’re going to be very disappointed.” 

Jon smiled. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Scores: 
> 
> Jon - 3  
> Tim - 2  
> Sasha - 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has gotten such a nice response, thanks guys~ I hope you enjoy this next chapter! The last one is already written, I just have to polish it up. But I might be busy this week trying to wrap up another longfic wip, which I'm trying to finish drafting before TMA picks up again. So it might be a week or two before the final chapter goes up.
> 
> And thanks once again to Elian and Ohita-kaki for their very helpful feedback~

The competition was fierce. Over the next two days, everyone was trying their best to corner Martin. Jon was already halfway there, but now Tim was putting up a real fight, and Sasha was even harder to predict. 

It was quite impressive, honestly, the way Martin managed to dance around their attempts more often than not. Tim tried shuffling the mistletoe around at least every other day, but Martin recognized the major danger zones and always timed his travel through the archives to take advantage of when the others were stuck on a task, like making calls or filing. 

Jon couldn’t help but think, somewhat bitterly, that the others had a significant advantage over him. Sure, it was obvious that he was participating in the game, though he’d tried to keep his level of actual enthusiasm ambiguous. Still, he was reluctant to leave his office too much, and he refused — at least at the moment — to hang any mistletoe up in there. That would be… obvious, maybe even desperate. He didn’t want to appear that way to the others. All this meant that Sasha and Tim — hell, even Rosie, who was managing to slowly earn herself points — had better chances of catching Martin than Jon did. 

By the time the weekend was upon them, Jon remained at three points. Tim managed to sneak past him, now at the lead with four. Sasha was now tied with Jon, having successfully ambushed Martin multiple times.

“I can’t believe you caught him in the _bathroom_ ,” Sasha grumbled during their lunch break. She and Tim had unexpectedly dragged Jon along with them. He might have resisted if they hadn’t admitted outright that it was something of a strategy meeting. 

“It was the only place he wouldn’t suspect,” Tim told her proudly. Then his posture slumped into a sulk. “Now there are zero places he won’t be expecting.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve run out of fresh spots to put them,” Sasha groused. “He knows where to avoid now.” 

“Surely it can’t be impossible to catch him,” Jon started, but Tim was already shaking his head. 

“You don’t get it, boss. We’ve been doing this for years, and Martin’s really good at the game. Got too much patience, too. I don’t know how he does it. He’ll find ways to keep working without crossing anyone’s path — I’ve seen him manage it for several days in a row.” 

“Is that why I can never find him when I need him,” Jon grumbled, mostly under his breath. Unfortunately for him, Sasha, who was sitting next to him, heard it perfectly well; she elbowed him in the side. “Ow! Would you please not do that?”

“I genuinely can’t believe you,” Sasha sighed. “You’re literally devising a plan to get kisses from Martin right now and you still can’t help but disparage the poor guy.” 

Jon scoffed, then sputtered, “Excuse me! We are all plotting. And- and this is just for some idiotic little game!”

“A game for idiots!” Tim agreed. He smiled at Jon. “So glad you’re participating this year, boss.” 

Sasha tossed an arm around Jon’s shoulders, ignoring the way he tensed up; it passed a moment later. Neither of them was particularly touchy, but Jon had slowly gotten used to the random displays of physical affection Sasha would sometimes offer. She didn’t seem to think too hard about it, so Jon figured it’d be best if he didn’t either. “Jon, seriously, what is your problem with him?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Jon grumbled. “He- If he just put a bit more thought into his work-”

“He thinks plenty about work,” Tim interrupted, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like he tries to mess up, you know. He just gets confused about small things, sometimes.”

“He’s… sloppy,” Jon insisted. “And forgetful; he’s always forgetting the simplest things-”

“So this is a death by a thousand cuts situation,” Tim said, nodding along, somehow making the gesture feel condescending. 

Jon shimmied his shoulders, half-heartedly wanting the weight of Sasha’s arm to fall away, but he didn’t push it, not even as she said, “People make mistakes, Jon. So maybe Martin makes more than most, what of it? Not exactly a good reason to give him such a hard time.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, nodding. He took a bite of his sandwich, and Sasha pulled her arm away to do the same. Jon frowned against the lid of his coffee cup, mind lost amid a storm of many buzzing thoughts. 

* * *

The weekend came and went. The only difference was the fact that Jon found he was excited to return to work on Monday. He always looked forward to work, as much as he supposed anyone looked forward to spending their time productively and earning a solid paycheck. But no, this was a different sort of enthusiasm that had very little to do with his actual job. 

He considered, briefly, being ashamed of himself for his behavior, but it was too late for shame now. He was in the midst of a very serious, competitive challenge, and he was determined to come out on top. Christmas was on Friday: this week was his last chance at earning the final three points required to beat Tim, Sasha, and everyone else at the institute. The annual office holiday party, held on Wednesday, would be the ideal time to secure his victory. That meant Jon had to get at least two more kisses before then. 

Which meant he had to start trying a bit harder. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with that idea. 

Monday found everyone in the office at their usual times, and by afternoon, nothing much had happened. A suspicious amount of nothing, in fact. Tim always made a show of announcing any points he’d earned for the game, and Sasha couldn’t resist a nonchalant gloat in Tim’s direct, which Jon usually overheard (he was keeping his office door mostly open these days). 

Today, though, there was not a peep of anything unusual. The first thing that really caught Jon’s attention was Martin, appearing out of nowhere in the doorway, with a smile and a mug of tea. “Room for your cup?” he asked. 

‘Ah- yes, one moment.” Jon hurried to shuffle some papers to the side so there was enough room on his desk for the tea. Martin carefully placed it in the new space. He always remembered to bring a coaster along with him, and this one was made of nice fabric, something green with snowflakes printed on it. “Thank you.” 

“Of course! Did you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” 

Then, as Martin was just about to leave, Jon made himself say, “Ah- wait.” 

Martin froze, then turned on his heel, watching as Jon approached. Jon settled his hand on the doorknob, fingers wearing at the cool metal, and did not glance up at the mistletoe he’d taped above his door. “There’s something rather important I need to inform you of.” 

“Really?” Martin asked, his tone light, as one brow rose. 

“Yes, I…”

What Jon had _intended_ to say was, “I have just earned myself another point,” while pointing out the mistletoe. 

To his surprise, what he actually said was, “I wanted to apologize.” 

His own shock was reflected in Martin’s expression. “Excuse me?”

Jon fumbled, hesitated, his heart suddenly beating very fast. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. Why did he say that?

The conversation from Friday sprung to the forefront of his mind. Jon had thought about it a couple of times over the weekend, but he’d been quick to shove it away. Now, though, the memory compelled him to speak. Because — and he was only now realizing this — he really did want to apologize. 

“I mean… I just wanted to say that… I’m sorry. For, uh, my behavior?” Jon had been standing a bit close, enough for him to ‘count’ as standing under the mistletoe with Martin. Now he took a small step away, hands clasped together against his stomach as he tried to keep them from fidgeting with anything. The desire to tug at the hem of his sweater was rapidly increasing. “I’ve… not treated you especially well. It wasn’t fair of me, so I apologize.”

“...I mean… You, um. You haven’t been that bad,” Martin said. Then, a little weakly, he added, “Lately,” with a small shrug. Pink-cheeked, he glanced away, his own hands tucking into his sides. He looked a bit like he wanted to shrink in on himself, which made Jon’s guilt even worse. 

“Well. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I was unnecessarily critical of your work, to a degree that was never really fair. I’m… I hope to do a better job in future.”

“Okay.” Martin offered a smile. “Um… thanks, Jon.” 

“Of course.”

“...Was there, uh, anything else you needed to tell me?”

Before he could stop himself, Jon’s eyes twitched up toward the mistletoe, but he hastily said, “No, no, that was all I wanted to say.”

“You’re sure?”

Yes, he was sure. The idea of coercing Martin for a kiss for some game seemed terribly gauche now. “There’s nothing else, Martin. I- that is, thank you again for the tea.”

“No problem…” Martin had a peculiar expression on his face; Jon couldn’t quite read it, but he didn’t think Martin looked upset. For just a second, Martin glanced over his shoulder, presumably at Tim, who Jon now noticed was just barely visible through the doorway. The other man had been leaning forward on his desk, obviously eavesdropping. 

Jon scowled and was prepared to offer a reprimand when he felt Martin’s warm, soft hand against his own. It gently wrapped around his fingers and tugged, just a bit, drawing Jon forward. He gave Martin a confused look, but his coworker just smiled and whispered, “Just play along.”

There was no telling what he meant by that. But Jon did as he was told, walking closer as Martin dropped his hand and half-stepped out of the office. “I’ll make sure to get to that right away, Jon,” he said, loud enough that Tim would definitely hear him. Then Martin said, “I just have one quick- oh, Jon! That’s a clever little trick you just did.” 

Jon’s brows shot up. “Wh-what? What trick?” 

Martin pointed at the mistletoe above them. “I’m surprised! It must have been a tempting spot to ignore for so long. Waited for me to drop my guard, huh?” 

From beyond the doorway, Jon could hear Tim’s indignant shout of, “What! Really, boss? Unfair!” But his eyes were fixed on Martin, who merely shrugged. 

Martin held up both hands, tilting his head at Jon: a silent question. Jon muttered, “Oh, oh, yes, that would be fine-” and found himself in the very next moment with Martin’s hands holding his head. It was a light touch, just as all the others had been, with his fingertips just barely keeping Jon still. Unable to witness, Jon closed his eyes. The kiss on his forehead was quick, but Jon could still feel the smile playing on Martin’s lips, and feel the ghost of a breath that tickled his hair. 

“That’ll be four to Jon,” Martin said, and Jon opened his eyes. Martin gave him one last smile before heading off, towards a slack-jawed Tim at his desk. Just before Martin passed, he pulled something from his pocket and gently lobbed it at Tim’s head; it was mistletoe, almost too small to distinguish it as such. It only had one tiny white berry hanging off it. The projectile smacked Tim in the cheek, and he squeaked in surprise. 

Martin said, “You left something in the bathroom again, Tim,” then left the room with a laugh.

* * *

On Tuesday, Jon came in to find every single sprig of mistletoe absent. He checked and double-checked the archives, unable to find a single one. He didn’t ask Tim or Sasha about it when they came in; neither of them mentioned anything about it. Martin, the one time Jon crossed his path for more than a second, seemed slightly anxious about it. “You didn’t move them, did you?” he asked Jon under his breath, like they’re sharing a secret, something conspiratorial. Jon, feeling oddly flustered, shook his head and quickly excused himself, fleeing down the hallway. 

All was revealed at the end of the day, when the three assistants decided to head out at the same time. If he looked up, Jon could see them huddled around the coat rack through the gap in his open door. He didn’t intend on going home, not just yet… A big chunk of tomorrow was going to be lost to the party, and he wanted to finish-

“Hah! Got you!”

Jon’s head snapped up. He could just see Sasha’s form as she gleefully bounced on the balls of her feet, grinning up at Martin, who held his coat in his hand. He was staring at the rack, where- Ah, that explained it. 

“Nice one, Sasha,” Tim said, sounding equal parts impressed and grumpy at her accomplishment. Sasha stuck her tongue out at him, then turned her expectant look back on Martin.

Martin just laughed, echoing Tim’s praise, before casually leaning over to deliver a peck on her forehead. As he pulled away, Sasha did a little fist-pump motion and smirked at Tim. “Four-four, Stoker.” 

“Four-four-four,” Martin reminded her. “All three of you are tied again.”

“But- but tomorrow’s the last day!” Tim complained, throwing Martin a pitiful, beseeching look. “We’ll barely have any time before the party-”

“I guess you better figure out something good, then,” Martin told him, then threw on his coat and headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Scores:  
> Jon, Tim, AND Sasha: 4


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the last chapter~ Thanks so much for reading! This fic got such a nice response and it made me very happy to see, hehe <3
> 
> Once more, thank you Elian and Ohata-kaki for beta-reading!!

The holiday party was held in the library, though most of the refreshments and snacks were kept in the front lobby. Fairy lights were strung between books and across the stacks, and some of the tables had been moved around to make room for dancing. Most of the institute staff remained off to the side, mingling with drinks. Some folks were dressed up, but most aren’t, which made Jon feel better about his mostly-plain outfit. He’d kept it simple with one of his usual white button-downs, but dug deep in his closet for the reddest tie he could find. After a moment of debate, he’d also put on a pair of earrings, diamond studs that glittered like tiny snowflakes, bright against his dark complexion. 

“Those are nice,” Sasha had told him when he arrived. She was loitering around the snacks within view of the open library doors. “You should wear more stuff like that to work.” 

Jon made a noncommittal noise, glancing at the long table and hoping for more sugar cookies. 

Soon enough, Tim joined them. The evening had barely begun and he was already out of breath. “Either of you seen Martin yet?”

“Not me,” Sasha replied. “Didn’t he come up ahead of you?”

“Yeah, he did! Said he was helping Rosie finish decorating, and guess what? She got another point.”

“Uh oh. How many is that now?”

“Three, I think.”

Jon took a sip of his mediocre punch and scanned the crowd. There were a few people he recognized from research, but in truth Jon couldn’t put a name to most of the faces he was seeing. Well, what could you expect, being sequestered in a glorified basement? 

Tim parked himself next to Jon, knocking him from his thoughts. “I hope you’re emotionally prepared, boss, because the only thing you’ll be kissing tonight is your near victory goodbye.” 

“Oh, please.”

“I’ve already scouted around,” Tim continued, pointing to vague spots all around the library. “I know the location of every piece of mistletoe in this place!”

Sasha interrupted, debating between some of her finger foods as she said, “You are ridiculous.”

“As if you don’t have your head in the game still.” 

“I’ll win,” Sasha said, popping some sort of tiny sandwich in her mouth. “And I won’t look like a lunatic in the meantime, running around stalking my coworker.” 

They continued to bicker, but when Jon tried to edge away, he found his path blocked. He turned to see Martin, watching with obvious amusement. Jon immediately felt embarrassed over the topic of conversation and pointedly cleared his throat, greeting Martin loudly enough that Tim and Sasha overheard. Luckily, they ceased their squabbling. 

“Hey everyone,” Martin said, gently raising his plastic up. “Having fun so far? Rosie did a great job with the decorations, right?” 

“Yeah!” Sasha agreed. “Honestly, Rosie and the others always knock these parties out of the park.” 

“We only get, what, two a year?” Tim asked. “If the big boss gave me permission to throw parties, you can be sure I’d take full advantage.”

Jon let out an amused scoff. “As if Elias would ever trust you to organize something like a party.” 

“Oh, like he’d choose you.”

“I’m not half as likely to throw a party that would get half the building burned down.” 

The conversation continued on, and to Jon’s surprise, it all felt normal and relatively easy. There were only a couple more times when the game was brought up — one of which being when Martin was, unfortunately, caught under some mistletoe hanging from a string of lights with Elias. Even from a distance, Jon could make out how incredibly red Martin’s cheeks were. 

“How’s he even know about the game?” Tim had asked bitterly, grimacing as Elias held out a hand to be kissed. Martin kept it quick, visibly nervous and chuckling awkwardly as he backed away. Elias walked off with an amused expression, and Jon could only shrug, more baffled over the fact that Elias had played along. 

At some point in the evening, Jon spotted Martin’s mop of hair above the rest of the crowd, and noted he was headed out of the library. Without much thought, he followed at a safe distance. Just before Martin disappeared down one of the hallways leading deeper into the Institute, Jon noticed the frown on his face, the nervous fidgeting of his hands. Briefly, he debated leaving it be — if Martin was upset and needed some time alone away from the party, that was fine, and definitely not Jon’s business. But curiosity and concern mixed in his stomach alongside far too much sugar, making Jon feel jittery and unfocused. The party was overstimulating, and the presence of the kissing game began to feel like an oppressive force on top of everything else. 

Maybe, if Martin was taking a break from all that, he wouldn’t mind a bit of company if Jon stayed quiet.

So Jon followed. He’d taken enough time debating his next move that he wasn’t sure where, exactly, Martin had hurried off to, but there were only so many spots on the first floor to hide. If he wasn’t in the lobby or library, then he might be in one of the empty offices or storage rooms near the back. Artefact storage was on the first floor, too, but Jon knew he wouldn’t stray too close if he didn’t have to.

He ended up finding Martin sitting in the hallway outside the office bullpen. He was cross-legged, patting his knees as he hummed some song to himself. Jon hesitated before turning the corner, but wanted to get caught staring even less than he wanted to interrupt, so he stepped out into view and gently cleared his throat. When Martin looked up, he let out a soft “Oh,” of surprise, then smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi. You, ah- are you…?”

“I’m fine,” Martin told him. He patted the spot next to him on the floor. “Just needed a break from things. Wanna sit with me?” 

Jon hurried over and felt much less awkward once he was at the same level as his coworker. Legs splayed straight in front of him, he leaned back against the wall, keeping his hands on his lap. The hallway was cool and quiet. The floor and wall were rather unforgiving, but Jon wasn’t so concerned with comfort at the moment. 

“I never come to the holiday parties,” he said, not really meaning to, but now Martin’s attention was on him, so he kept talking. “I just- My grandmother and I didn’t really celebrate the holidays. Nothing was different at home during the last few months of the year, so I mostly tuned it all out. And the parties — they always struck me as a bit frivolous.”

Martin hummed vaguely. “Frivolity is sort of the point, though, isn’t it?” 

“I suppose.”

“I like the parties,” Martin says, smiling. “There are a lot of people in the Institute I don’t get to talk to very often, but I can see them on nights like these and catch up a bit. Ah, usually.”

“Usually?”

“The Christmas Parties… Well, we’re always playing the game, you know? It can be kind of hard to just, like, enjoy myself. N-not that I don’t like being here! I like hanging out with everyone, and the game is fun, it’s just… I dunno, it’s harder to relax. I have to keep my eye out for mistletoe so I don’t make it too easy for everybody, I guess. And sometimes it feels like…”

Martin drifted off, looking self-conscious, but Jon just sat and waited. 

“I dunno. It’s kind of stupid. I mean, I like the attention everyone gives me this time of year, it’s nice! Who wouldn’t like it? And, and everyone enjoys the game so much, I wouldn’t want to ruin it. It’s just that sometimes it feels a bit like… I just feel sort of bad? For no real reason.” 

“It makes you feel bad?”

“Not- not a lot! Just a little, ‘cause — well, I guess it just makes me feel sort of like people are only paying attention to me so they can win the game.” Martin paused, picking at his fluffy sweater. “I know it’s a dumb way to feel; I mean, I _know_ it’s all for the game. And it’s _just_ a game, so I shouldn’t get so worked up over it.”

“...I don’t think that’s dumb,” Jon eventually said. “That honestly sounds like a very fair thing to assume.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Though I believe you’re wrong,” Jon continued. “Everyone seems to really enjoy the excuse to bother you.” 

“Like I said, though, it’s just so they can win the game?”

“No it’s not-”

“Don’t give me that,” Martin interrupted, his tone threatening to turn snappy. Staring Jon down, he asked, “Haven’t you been trying your best to win the game since you started?”

“I- well, I mean, that’s the point of a game, is to try to win — isn’t it?” 

“And that’s really the only reason you’ve been so- that you’ve been trying to get kisses from me,” Martin told him. “Which, again, is fine! That’s how it goes.” 

“That- that’s not fair,” Jon grumbled, crossing his arms. He felt frustrated and defensive and he wasn’t sure why, exactly. Everything Martin said made sense — more than that, it was true. Or at least mostly true. 

“Come off it. You can’t honestly tell me that you’d ever want to kiss me, if it wasn’t to win some stupid game and get one over on Tim or something. Right?”

Jon tried to anwer, only to find he couldn’t. Martin stared, waiting, but the seconds crawled relentlessly by. 

“...Right?” he asked again, and Jon took that as his queue to scramble up onto his feet. Once he felt steady, he twitched, taking half-a-second to debate the merit of literally fleeing from the conversation. Instead he wiped himself down, as if he’d been seated on dirt rather than the carpeted floor, and held out a hand for Martin. “We should go back to the party,” he said, trying to sound composed. “They’ll start wondering where we’ve run off to.” 

Martin took his hand, though he did most of the work in getting up off the floor. For a second too long he just held Jon there with him in the hallway, his hand warm and large in comparison to Jon’s. Then he pulled away and smiled. “Sure, let’s head back.”

They kept pace with each other, walking back in silence, but it only felt a bit uncomfortable. Jon wondered if he was the only one who felt so; Martin retained the hint of a smile on his face the whole trip. 

Soon they were within range of the festive music and fairy lights. Almost immediately, Tim locked on them from near the stacks. Then, quite loudly, enough to cut through the music and general din of voices, he cried out, “No way!” 

Jon startled, gently bumping into Martin’s shoulder. While he glared at Tim, silently mouthing at him to keep his voice down, Martin glanced up and laughed. 

There was mistletoe above them, the clearly plastic decoration lightly dusted with fake frost. Jon turned his glare to it instead, feeling terribly awkward; thanks to Tim’s outburst, more than a few people were looking over at them. A couple of folks who knew them better were grinning, and to Jon’s mortification, someone in the crowd whistled. 

“Ah, well, looks like you caught me Jon,” Martin mused aloud. Jon noted how he was projecting his voice, enough so everyone — or Tim, at least — could hear him. “Looks like you’ve won the game!” 

Tim, who had walked a bit closer with Sasha in toe, let out an indignant noise. “What!? No he didn’t! That’s only his fifth point!” 

Jon could only look between them, his breath speeding up at an alarming pace. 

“He actually snagged one earlier,” Martin told Tim, tapping the side of his nose. He glanced at Jon, looking conspiratorial. “You must’ve missed it, Tim.”

“No way,” Tim anguished, but Martin had turned back to Jon.

“I… I, um.” Jon felt idiotic, standing there with so many people staring at him, waiting. He could appreciate Martin’s con — he was tired of the game taking up his time and energy. Jon even agreed that he deserved to enjoy the rest of his night without it hanging over his head, and pretending Jon was about to win the game was, frankly, a very clever way of ending things. But…

“I don’t know if, um, if I can-” Jon felt his hands trembling under the weight of their eyes, the thought of them all seeing him do something like this. There were so many people here, so many employees he’d never once talked to, he didn’t want them watching-

“Jon? Jon, it’s okay,” Martin told him, a worried smile playing on his lips. “Really, it’s fine. Here.” 

Martin kissed the tops of his fingers, then — very gently — pressed them against Jon’s lips. Jon barely had any time to react before Martin was turning away, telling Tim, “That’s it! Looks like Jon beat you — what a twist!” 

“I can’t believe this,” Tim huffed, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. It was a bit exaggerated, so Jon got the idea he wasn’t actually upset about it. “Won the whole damn game and didn’t even get himself a proper kiss.” 

Martin shrugged. “Not everyone likes to get slobbered on, Tim.”

“Hey, you give perfectly nice kisses! Very tasteful kisses. And speaking of you kissing people-”

“Sorry Tim, I’m afraid I’m all kissed out for tonight,” Martin told him, patting his shoulder before heading for the snack table. “The spell has broken! Mistletoe no longer has any claim over me.” 

As the two of them drifted away, Sasha saddled up beside Jon and gave him a firm clap on the shoulder. “Way to pop Tim’s big head, Jon — he really needed to let out all that hot air.” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, but his thoughts weren’t on Tim. 

* * *

Eventually the party started winding down. Somehow, after bidding a mildly tipsy Tim and Sasha goodnight, Jon found himself walking out of the building with Martin. 

Their feet fell into step as they left the Institute and headed toward their train stop. It was cold out, and Jon shivered, adjusting his gloves and sleeves before shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jon glanced at Martin, then shrugged. “I’m fine. You?”

“Also fine. I feel pretty good, actually. The party was nice.”

“It was… not as bad as I thought it could have been,” Jon conceded. 

“Yeah… Hey, Jon? I just wanted to say thanks; for earlier, you know.” 

“Ah.”

“Just, it was pretty perfect timing,” Martin explained. “The mistletoe and everything. I just wanted to be done with it, you know? So yeah, thanks for going along with the lie.” 

“It was fine, Martin.”

“Okay, good.”

“...Thank you, as well.”

Martin paused, then quickly took a few steps to the side so he wasn’t blocking the sidewalk. Jon followed him. “Thanks for what?” he asked.

“For not kissing me,” Jon muttered. Then, more clearly, “In front of everyone, I mean. I didn’t want to, ah-”

“No, no, it’s fine! I get it. It feels weird with an audience, right?” 

“Yeah…”

“I’ve gotten sort of used to it, but I know what you mean. It was no trouble.” 

“Right. Well.” 

They continued walking, keeping quiet for a while. Jon was relieved to be on his way home — frankly, he was eager to put the holidays behind them and return to a more normal routine. Yet, as they walked, a small thought kept nagging at him. 

“I feel a bit bad lying,” he mused aloud. “Tim was so looking forward to his victory.” 

“Tim will live,” Martin said with the ghost of a laugh. He quirked a brow at Jon. “You really feel bad for it?”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly _fair_ ,” Jon groused. “There was no fifth kiss.” 

“We could remedy that easily enough,” Martin told him, then gently grabbed Jon’s arm. It was hardly anything — Jon could’ve pulled himself away, if he wanted. He let himself be stilled, staring up at Martin, unsure of the expression he might be wearing. 

“One on the nose, right?” Martin asked, and Jon just nodded. He closed his eyes as Martin tilted his head down. Jon thought he could feel the warmth of his red cheeks, and knew he felt Martin’s lashes against his forehead. 

“There, now you did _technically_ get all six kisses tonight,” Martin told him after pulling away, an indulgent little smile playing on his lips. Jon nodded, but didn’t move away. Instead, he shuffled closer. Martin’s eyes grew wide as he asked, “Jon?” 

“You were wrong,” Jon made himself say. “About before.” 

“About what…?” Martin asked, but looked as if he already knew the answer. With slow caution, his hands settled on Jon’s waist. His eyes shone a little, and his cheeks were very rosy. 

Jon didn’t answer. Instead he gripped Martin’s scarf, gently pulling his companion closer. Then, pushing himself up onto his toes, Jon kissed him. 

It wasn’t like the other kisses, for all the obvious reasons. But mostly, Jon thought this one was the sweetest. 


End file.
